"Well, then," said Amelia, smiling, "I consent to play Mentor to my maid of honor." "Your royal highness promises then, solemnly, to be present at every conference between Mademoiselle von Marwitz and her irresistible partner?" "I promise; be quick! Marwitz will die of curiosity, if you do not tell the name of this wonder." "Well, now, that I have, so far as it is in my power, guarded the heart of this young girl from disaster, and placed it under the protecting eye of our noble princess, I venture to name my paragon. He is the young lieutenant-Baron von Trenck, the favorite of the king and the court." Very different was the impression made by this name upon the two ladies. The eager countenance of Mademoiselle von Marwitz expressed cool displeasure; while the princess, blushing and confused, turned aside to conceal the happy smile which played upon her full, rosy lips. Pollnitz, who had seen all this, wished to give the princess time to collect herself. He turned to Mademoiselle Marwitz and said: "I see, to my amazement, that our lovely maid of honor is not so enraptured as I had hoped. Mademoiselle, mademoiselle! you are a wonderful actress, but you cannot deceive me. You wish to seem disappointed and indifferent, in order to induce our gracious princess to withdraw her promise to me, and to think it unnecessary to be present at your interviews with Trenck. This acting is in vain. The princess has given her word, and she will most surely keep it." "Certainly," said Amelia, smiling, "I have no alternative. Queens and princesses, kings and princes, are bound by their promises, even as common men, and their honor demands that they fulfil their contracts. I will keep my word. But enough of jesting for the present. Let us speak now of the solemn realities of life, namely, of our toilets. Baron, give me your model engraving, and make known your views. Call my chambermaid, mademoiselle, and my dressmakers; we will hold a solemn conference." CHAPTER II. THE TEMPTER. As Mademoiselle von Marwitz left the room, Pollnitz took a sealed note from his pocket and handed it hastily to the princess. She concealed it in the pocket of her dress, and continued to gaze indifferently upon a painting of Watteau, which hung upon the wall. "Not one word! Still! Not one word!" whispered Pollnitz. "You are resolved to drive my young friend to despair. You will not grant him one gracious word?" The princess turned away her blushing face, drew a note from her bosom, and, without a glance or word in reply, she handed it to the master of ceremonies, ashamed and confused, as a young girl always is, when she enters upon her first love romance, or commits her first imprudence.